Stay
by norree
Summary: Mars, a courier, has a lot of difficult decisions to make. Starting with the night he kills Mr. House, the story follows his adventures and whirlwind romance with Elder McNamara. The story has some profanity here and there, and switches POVs of characters. *Appearance references for Mars are in my profile!* Rating may change to M for later chapters, but T for now. ENJOY YOUR STAY !


**Mars**

Ever since I killed Mr. House, I have felt as though I have no home.

No matter where I was, no matter whom I was with, no matter what dangers lurked in the darkness, the glow of the Lucky 38 hummed in the distance. Its warm beacon signified a greater power, as if I was being watched, as if there was someone looking out for me…

That someone had been Mr. House. Though he had launched me into a string of dangers, he had given me a life worth living. A life worth the pain, worth the anxiety, and worth the sleepless nights. I never knew when it was going to end, when I was going to walk _too close _to that edge, but I wasn't afraid. I was doing what I wanted, simultaneously burning and building bridges.

I should have known that the rush couldn't last. Though Mr. House's dream was tantalizing with its glitzy promises, I couldn't shake my conscience. Sure, the Strip was a paradise—but that was the problem. Every oasis must have its desert, and I don't mean the Mojave—_poverty_ spread across the state as a result of uneven resources, and only a select few could enjoy the dream that is New Vegas. Each step towards an independent Strip felt like a leap away from the common person, and it wore down on me. I looked to the children of Freeside, and saw their small sanctuaries—tattered blankets tucked away into the corners of abandoned buildings. I looked to the alleys of Westside, and saw young women sleeping on torn sheets.

The more I saw, the less comfortable my queen-size bed felt. Each empty mouth made my buffet look greyer, to the point of tastelessness. Tastelessness for my presidential suite, for my view of the Mojave, and for myself.

The list of factions that idolized me grew longer, _denser_, suggesting that I was making _progress_. In some ways, sure, I was. But what they didn't know was where I was heading…Mr. House was a purist. He didn't want to fulfill every fantasy. He didn't want to help the poor or shelter the homeless. He wanted to feel alive again. But by pursuing this dream, he was endangering the lives of countless others. Wanderers of the wastes were flies, and he was keen on them staying that way—little moths to flock to his light, only to be burned by the flame of Vegas.

Like all governments, the NCR had its faults. But at least it had _plans_ to help the masses. In them I found the morals I had lost somewhere along the way. They reminded me what I had always wanted—a safe place to belong. What they brought to the table seemed wonderfully foreign—taxes, supplies, and an expectancy to live. Initially, it wasn't a hard decision—there was no way in hell I would help the Legion, so as a lost sheep does, I flocked to the Shepard. I wouldn't say the NCR took me in with open arms, but hey, at least they took me in.

Things started getting better. Mr. House didn't expect that my allegiances were shifting, and I was quickly gaining trust in the NCR. I met my good friends, Arcade and Rex, and together we started taming the west. I felt a new sense of dignity. Deep down I knew I would have to officially pick a side, but that seemed so far in the distance that I didn't worry about it.

In this temporary bliss I met the Brotherhood of Steel. I hadn't heard much about them, except that their faction predated the NCR, and the two groups hated each other. I had also heard that no one knew how to find them, and they hadn't dealt with an outsider for months. With low expectations, I hesitantly searched for their hideout in Hidden Valley. Stumbling into their dusty base I had no idea how dramatically my life was about to change.

Immediately I was told by two heavily armored soldiers to remove my clothes and strip down to my underwear. As evocative as the order was, I was scared shitless—what the _hell_ did I just walk into? Shakily I complied, and then was coldly dragged down two fleets of stairs, through twisting dark hallways and strange yellow lights. Finally we got to our destination—Elder Nolan McNamara's office.

Now to be fair, the term _Elder _is not a flattering one. My mind started conjuring up images of an old creature too small for their seat, wrinkled skin seeping into the folds of a large cloak. So it's no wonder I was caught off guard when the metal door swished open only to reveal a gorgeous man who couldn't be a year over 30.

With silver hair and light eyes, he looked like a lion trapped in a cage. A dark, metal cage that was this underground base. I couldn't but feel a _little_ underdressed in his presence.

He seemed intrigued by my presence, but weighed down by heavy packs of paranoia. I don't blame him—at this point I had built up quite a reputation around the Mojave, and here I was, randomly in his office in a pair of dirty underwear, with no explanation to why.

Like anyone should do when practically naked and in the depths of a foreign, underground base, I said I was here to help. He liked the sound of that, but had to test my loyalty with a small mission. He had a guard strap a collar around my neck that would explode if I tried to sabotage the operation. I think that's when I knew we would get along.

Long story short, I completed some small tasks, and then some _really big_ tasks, and gained the Brotherhood's trust. I could feel something building. Every time I finished a quest for McNamara, a hot spark crackled through my chest at the idea of reporting back to him. Late nights in the middle of the desert I thought of not only the Lucky 38, but of how Nolan called me 'outsider' with a twinkle in his eye, his voice buttered with a tone a little _friendlier_ than friendly…

Needless to say, I started to feel comfortable in Hidden Valley. I _liked_ how the sand storms smacked my face with a thousand dull needles, because it meant I was_ almost there_. And the people genuinely liked me, and I felt like I was making a difference. Sure, the NCR would be pissed, but I could keep my alliance on the down low. For the time being, I was pretty happy keeping my decisions at bay.

Unfortunately, this idealistic existence was just that—idealistic. It wasn't long before Colonel Moore gave me an ultimatum—kill Mr. House, or leave the NCR. I immediately went into shock, as if the stages of grief had already begun. _What_? No one could simply _kill_ Mr. House, he was everything! He was the buildings, the land, the bottle caps, the _air_! He was the glow in the distance, the closest thing to a God in the Mojave. And after everything he had provided me, I was to walk into the Lucky 38 and _kill him_?

Numbly I left the NCR post at the Hoover Dam, and began the slow journey to New Vegas's north gate. The walk went on for hours, and it was unusually painful…the worst was the night, when Mr. House's glistening city showed me the way, a blissful lighthouse in the distance to steer my wayward march…

…In my travels I have faced many difficult decisions. Such decisions had often meant life or death to others, but this felt different. A wasteland weed should spread and conquer other plants, not the sun from which it grew. By betraying Mr. House, I couldn't even tell if I was betraying what was in my heart. I was trusting the NCR, and tried desperately not to question their judgment.

I couldn't bear to look Victor in his computer-generated face, not with the way he always smiled at me when I came to the Lucky 38. It was too much. Solemnly I walked past him and to the elevator, where he appeared again to take me up to Mr. House. As the elevator rose through the tower, I could feel my blood rising—it started as a tingling in the feet, to a hum in the waist, to a drumming in the heart, until it pounded in my head. Mercilessly it boiled, fingers stoking my concealed pistol for comfort. I tried to comfort myself with making light of the situation. _It's just a computer. You're not really killing a _person_, per se, but rather a vessel. Mr. House has already pushed his luck with life, his existence is unnatural. 200+ years is long enough to attempt your dream, he had a fair shot…_

The elevator doors fooshed open to reveal the penthouse floor. It was so serene here, always light, always friendly. Shelves lined with pre-war books and coffee mugs brought a sense of sanctuary, a place for true relaxation.

_Not a place for betrayal, is it Mars?_

I swallowed and walked past Jane, past the few other scattered securitrons, and to Mr. House's screen. I started up at the green glow with a vacant expression, lips slightly parted in shock. Was I really about to do this? Mr. House said nothing, and his screen flickered patiently above me. He must have known I hadn't been to the Fort for him yet, but with the way he stared down at my quiet frame, I'll always wonder if he knew…

I turned around to the wall behind me, and located the security terminal computer. I stood before it for a moment, just to listen. Listen to the peace, listen to my radio chiming happily, and listen to the calm before the storm. The trust before the fatal blow should be met with respectful silence.

Quickly the song on my Pip-Boy picked up, and I knew it was time. My fingers started assaulting the keys with such panic and force, it's a wonder none of the buttons broke. I selected the option to open Mr. House's seal chamber, and as anticipated, the security system kicked in. A few red lights started swirling as a loud beeping commenced, and to my right the wall opened up to the passageway. I ran from the penthouse's main room and through the new hall, dodging securitron attacks along the way. Finally I got to the jackpot—Mr. House's chamber. Quickly I turned off my radio and opened the heavy metal door, closing it forcefully behind me.

In front of me complete was quiet. It was very dark, and consisted of a metal walkway, sort of a bridge, and at the end was a platform. With only one way to go, I went forward. On the platform was a vessel, coffin like in shape. Before it was a control panel. I could hear the pumping of air into the vessel, and knew what was inside; Mr. House's real body.

The control panel was very simple, and I had the option to release Mr. House. I did, and the vessel ahead opened. It lifted Mr. House's body vertically, mounted as a butterfly is on a cork display. Tubes went and left his body like a monorail terminal, and a heavy hazing sound seeped from the body. He looked starkly skeletal, his hair draped in wisps around his face.

I stood in front of him feeling like a fool, both too small and too big for this creature's company.

From the old man's trembling lips cracked a voice, weary with grief.

"Why…would you do…this?"

I don't recall exactly what I said, something insignificant for the moment, something about the NCR, something about what I had promised, something…

A sharp ringing in my ear started up, and I could barely hear him, yet his voice was the _only thing_ I could hear, his voice is _still_ always whispering, always pleading with me…

He told me of my mistake, that I had thrown it all away, that I had wasted all of his work, that I alone had turned the dream to ashes. I told him I would keep him alive, that I didn't need to kill him, _I didn't want_ to kill him, this was for the good of the new world, a world that I don't think he ever belonged in…

A lump of liquid hitched in my throat and stayed there, and he told me he wanted to die, _Mr. House_ wanted to die. My right hand passed like sand over my chest and into my jacket to grab the pistol.

With the incessant ringing in my ear, I shot him. I shot Mr. House.

Silence. My arm shook violently, still extended, gun still pointed. Tears pooled out of my closed eyes, and it was done. It was done. Mr. House was gone.

I jogged out of the chamber room and back into the main part of the penthouse. The colossal screen that had always displayed a young Mr. House had changed, in light green words flickered "Connection Lost…". The securitrons had been calmed, and an eerie tranquility consumed the atmosphere. Jane was gone. Victor was gone. I haven't found them to this day.

Taking the elevator back down to the casino floor was solemn and lukewarm. I felt an unwanted sense of freedom—no one was watching me, no greater power monitored my every move, it was just me…

The deep maroon carpet greeted me on the main floor, but it looked different. Everything looked different. The Lucky 38 suddenly looked like an orphan, though nothing physically had changed. But the music still seemed sadder, the neon lights a bit duller.

My blurry vision led me to the exit doors and back onto the Strip. There was no panic, no flurry of commotion, nothing. The Strip was functioning as it had 30 minutes ago. No one knew, not yet. The Gomorrah still blew kisses from its red signs, the Ultra-Luxe seemed just as darkly exclusive, the Tops just as charismatic. But the Lucky 38. Oh, the Lucky 38. I couldn't bear to look at it, so I ran away. For the first time, the first time _ever_, I wanted its glow to go cold. But no matter how far I ran, no matter how fast, its light still peeked between the dessert's silhouettes.

Though I had just disabled the most powerful player in Nevada, I felt powerless. Weak. Pathetic. Who was I to do such a game-changer? I'm Mars, I'm a _courier_, I got shot in the head a few months ago. And you know what gave me faith? The fucking Lucky 38. It was the first gleam of hope after I got shot, for I looked at it in the distance on that cemetery hilltop in Goodsprings, and I knew my life was going to change for the better. And I had just turned my back on it.

We are little things, humans. Little things with tremendous power. I did not earn this power, no one really does, it just _happens_. Whether or not I had deserved it (which I didn't), it had been given to me. By Mr. House, of all people. And I had used it. I had used that power, and now it was time to move on. I have seen enough lives riddled and tainted with remorse to stray away from the subject—I knew no amount of boos or packs would get me through this, so I didn't bother. I could cry, sure, that was fine, but that was all. What I needed to do now was find a home. I still technically had the presidential suite, but I couldn't go back there, not for a long time.

But there was one place I was always welcome.

With my doctor and my dog by my side, we headed to the south. Though I had acquired a new shadow that night, I still had one source of solace…and that solace had icy eyes and silver hair, and he would be my sanctuary tonight.


End file.
